


Savathûn's Dong; alternatively titled A Pleasant Place, A Perfected Presence

by DeviousCreator



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Body Modification, Consensual Taking, Don't read further unless you want spoilers, Drone Kink, Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Mind Manipulation, Mind Meld, Multi, Mystery, Other, Oviposition, Purple Prose, Queer Themes, Taking (Destiny), lore heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeviousCreator/pseuds/DeviousCreator
Summary: A guardian finds themselves lost, summoned to the cradle. Mysterious forces at play, they push on, the portal to a throne world not deterring them. At last, they come face to face with the Taken Queen herself.What she will say, however? That will change their life forever.(Written with a gender-neutral perspective character who has labia)
Relationships: Gender Neutral Guardian/Original Ghost, Genter Neutral Guardian/Savathun, Original Ghost/Savathun
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop/gifts).



> For a non Zalgo-ed version of the text, see chapter 2.

Before me lies the expanse of the Cradle, Io. I've walked here many times before; in fact, I would say that it is a favorite place of mine to wander when my brain leads me to contemplation. It is an ancient place, marked with the soul of a people not born of each other, but born of the Light. The feeling this place evokes is one of wholeness, a reminder of our shared history. The melancholy that pierces my heart is overwhelming.

In recent months, however, this holy site has been incurred against; wicked digits crawling the ground, a battlefield where once I found myself having tea. No matter: a guardian always fights on, even when faced with odds so unlikely. I have many a time grabbed a fireteam and plowed through the dark hordes, clearing the way.

This, however… this time is different. Firstly, I am alone, but for my trusty ghost Sylvangale. She's with me everywhere though. As I make the cautious movements to get to my feet, I notice the second major discrepancy. Namely, I don't have any of my weapons on me.

My feet grab forward, their world-worn soles treading toward some destination I know not of. The last incision into this space was many weeks ago, a last-ditch attempt by the Taken to gain a foothold. We stomped it out, crushed the interlopers into dust all the same. 

Why would I need to be here, at this moment? “Where are you going?” Sylvangale chirps from my radio, a reminder of her constant presence. “There’s nothing in that direction but cliffs and…” she trails off, the sentence left floating, like the shapes we see before us. She was correct, before those shapes materialized. The ochre palette of Io’s surface often leaves much to be desired, it’s craggy shapes and putrescent rocks only made worse by the smell. 

The constant stench of sulfur from the vents and pools leaking into the atmosphere. If you ever see a guardian on Io with their helmet on, I promise you it isn’t because Io lacks atmosphere. It has plenty.

The shapes that had materialized before us were foreign to me, characters in some xenoscript I had yet to bear witness to. They swirled in the air, the movement causing me to reach for my holster. Missing. I scramble to find the nearest cover, a stone or a tree, anything to put a buffer between those shapes and me. 

I find none. The clearing is empty, but for the rocks and crags, and the symbols now ominously circling a dot of darkness. 

I’ve seen this before, just not with these symbols. This is what happens before an incursion into the cradle. The Taken had finally regrouped, brought their forces to heel and prepared a second wave. I would be the first to fall.

“Sylva, get me comms to the vanguard, Asher, anyone really!” I whisper. “We’re dark here, I’m afraid. No signals in or out.” She replies, her placidity grating. “You do still have your abilities, yes?” I flex my light and an orb of arc energy appears in my hand. That’s a yes, then. “Keep checking comms, I’ll do my best here. Just stay out of harm’s way if I go down.”

As the dot expands into a greater and greater space, I prepare myself for the first forces. None arrive to meet me. Finally, the portal is fully open, a maw in space and time. Yet I am alone still, stranded in the Cradle without my ship, my weapons, or my comms.

I could have turned around, freed myself of the grasp of whatever creature aimed to lure me in. Curiosity, that most human of traits, made me pursue it further. Through the portal I step, and into an ascendant realm. Around me winds whirl, the ground the calcareous pathways indicative of hive architecture. 

“I must say I’m suspicious of this.” That makes two of us Sylvangale. “Why would the Taken want to lure us into their ascendant realm? That’s asking for trouble.” she finishes. “Whatever they’re aiming for, we’re not going to give it to them.” I respond, surveying the land ahead of me. A massive hive keep sprawls, the tapered columns immaculate. I see Taken eyeing me from the spires of the keep, and I ready myself to fight.

“They’re not aggressing.” Sylva notes, and I look around. Even the ones that I should be in range of stand stock, assessing the situation but not attacking. Taken never do this. “This is almost definitely a trap of some sort. Be ready.” she continues.

The gate to the keep straight ahead of me, I notice it.

Dozens of thrall, kneeling on either side of the walkway, a channel for me to pass through. A guest of honor? I pass through them with trepidation, every moment an opportunity for them to attack. They never do.

Inside the keep, I find a wizard outfitted in finery. Or, as close to finery as I assume the Taken get. They gesture down the rightward pathway, and follow me as I make my march. “To be invited inside a Hive god’s ascendant plane, and then their palace? If we make it out of here, we’re going to have one hell of a story to tell.” Sylva quips. I stay silent, mulling over everything that I’ve done in the past to try to understand: why, why, why? Why would a hive god be interested in me?

I would soon get my answer. Upon arriving at the central chamber, I come face to… probably face with an easily 20 foot tall hive creature. I have no means of ascertaining what or who they are, but this appears to be my destination, flanked by wizards on either side which prevent my extrication. 

Seeing my only possible throughline, I step forward. What I do not expect is for the creature to address me.

“W̴e̶l̸c̸o̶m̸e̴ ̶t̴o̵ ̶m̶y̸ ̶p̷a̷l̵a̷c̴e̸,̸ ̸g̶u̸a̸r̶d̷i̶a̸n̸.̶ ̵I̶ ̷a̴m̶ ̵s̶u̵r̸e̸ ̴y̸o̶u̷’̵r̶e̶ ̷c̵u̶r̶i̴o̴u̴s̶ ̵a̶b̵o̷u̷t̵ ̵w̷h̸a̷t̷ ̶y̸o̸u̸r̴ ̶b̵u̷s̷i̴n̸e̶s̷s̸ ̸i̷s̶ ̶h̶e̶r̵e̸,̵ ̸w̵h̵a̶t̷ ̸p̸u̷r̵p̴o̶s̶e̶ ̸I̵ ̸h̶a̸v̸e̴ ̶f̴o̵r̴ ̵y̵o̵u̴.̶ ̵W̶h̸y̷,̸ ̷e̷v̷e̵n̵,̷ ̸I̷ ̷h̷a̸v̶e̵ ̷t̸r̷e̷a̸t̷e̸d̶ ̷y̷o̴u̵ ̸s̵o̵ ̶k̶i̷n̷d̵l̷y̷.̵ ̶A̸l̵l̶ ̷o̶f̵ ̶t̶h̶e̵s̵e̶ ̶w̸i̵l̶l̵ ̶b̵e̶ ̸a̷n̷s̴w̷e̷r̵e̶d̷ ̴i̶n̶ ̶t̶i̵m̷e̷,̴ ̸I̷ ̷a̸s̴s̴u̴r̴e̵ ̶y̴o̶u̸.̴ ̶I̶n̴ ̵t̸h̶e̴ ̴m̷e̵a̸n̴t̵i̴m̷e̴,̴ ̵p̴l̸e̸a̸s̸e̴,̵ ̵s̵i̶t̸.̴ ̶L̶i̷s̴t̶e̴n̵”

The sound bounds out of them in a voice of dripping needles, both soothing and rough at the same time; A loquacious freedom steeped in completely foreign sensory experiences, like a familiar, motherly voice and yet, at the same time, the chittering of a cicada, all wrapped together. It leaves me unsettled, yet calmed, an experience of contrasts and confusion. “Thi̵̦͆s is wrong, this a̷̻͌̕ľ̶̩̖̪̈́̚l feels so wr̸͇̀́͠ong. Wê̶̲͎̈ should be prepȃ̸̞̐red̵̫́, ready̴̪̔̒ to̵͙̪̎ run. I feel so w̷̫̾̚eak aroun̵͕͝͝d them, an eminentlÿ̶̻̣̠́̚ uncö̷̡́͝mfortable distance from ou̴̞̱̮͂̇͐r light.” sylva belts out to me. I can feel it too, the tug. 

Something compels me forward. The being’s strange ethereal presence haunts my soul, holding it hostage to their whims. I start forward, and ask a simple, if discordant question. 

“What is your name?”

They stir, the shifting of their limbs causing creaks and shivers from the enormous, osseous throne under them. They let out a noise; it sounds almost like a chittering giggle, a laugh that only the most devilish of creatures would have.

We are dealing with the taken here. Devilish is in-line with expectations. 

Finally, after moments of contemplation, their three compound eyes scanning me, piercing deep into my core, they let out a sign, and then, words.“̸O̷f̸ ̵c̸o̷u̸r̸s̸e̶.̶ ̴I̶ ̸a̶m̸ ̶S̸a̴v̵a̷t̶h̸u̸n̵,̷ ̸t̶h̶e̵ ̷t̵a̴k̶e̵n̵ ̶q̵u̸e̷e̶n̷,̷ ̵h̶e̸i̷r̸ ̵t̸o̵ ̴t̸h̴e̶ ̴m̷o̵t̵h̵e̴r̴ ̴m̴o̷r̷p̴h̵,̸ ̸a̵n̴d̷ ̶t̷h̴e̶ ̷c̶o̵m̸i̷n̷g̷ ̴d̸e̶s̷o̵l̵a̵t̷i̶o̸n̶ ̴o̷f̵ ̸t̸h̶e̴ ̸l̸i̶g̴h̵t̷.̴ ̸I̶ ̵w̴e̸a̷v̷e̸ ̴d̵e̴c̶e̷p̴t̶i̶o̸n̴ ̶t̸h̴r̷o̶u̷g̴h̷ ̷t̴h̶e̶ ̵u̵n̶i̸v̶e̵r̸s̶e̷,̸ ̸e̵v̶e̷r̸y̷ ̷i̴n̷s̸t̴a̵n̸t̶ ̶a̶n̸ ̶o̵p̸p̶o̵r̵t̵u̷n̸i̸t̸y̸ ̸t̶o̴ ̶c̵r̵e̴a̶t̸e̴ ̴g̵r̷e̷a̴t̴e̶r̵ ̵c̵h̸a̷o̶s̴.̷ ̸I̴ ̶a̶l̴r̵e̷a̶d̵y̷ ̸k̵n̸o̸w̴ ̵w̴h̷o̷ ̷y̷o̸u̷ ̵a̴r̶e̷,̴ ̶g̷u̶a̴r̴d̶i̵a̶n̴.̸ ̸S̷a̴v̵i̸o̶u̶r̵ ̵o̴f̵ ̴t̶h̶e̷ ̷s̷y̴s̴t̸e̴m̵ ̶d̵o̸z̷e̷n̶s̸ ̷o̴f̸ ̶t̷i̴m̶e̷s̴ ̸o̵v̶e̸r̴.̸ ̶Y̴o̴u̷ ̵a̷r̶e̴ ̵t̷r̸u̶l̷y̸ ̶a̶ ̵g̸i̷f̴t̶e̸d̴ ̴l̵i̶g̵h̶t̶-̶b̴e̸a̷r̷e̸r̶.̷ ̸H̸o̷w̴e̵v̷e̸r̵,̵ ̷I̴ ̸m̴u̸s̵t̶ ̴a̶s̸k̴ ̴y̷o̷u̶ ̵a̶ ̴q̷u̴e̷s̷t̶i̸o̷n̷…̵”̸

She, Savathun, seems to hesitate. No- Hesitate is the wrong word. She’s chosing her timing, the very cadence of her speech precisely. She unravels herself from her throne, the full two dozen feet of her stretching out to fill the air.

I see now why this chamber, nay, the palace, is built as big as it is. She towers over me, her full height intimidating before she crouches down and places a single finger under my chin. I can feel her gaze, its intensity is everything in this moment.

“̵H̷a̸v̵e̸ ̷y̷o̷u̶ ̷e̶v̷e̶r̸ ̴w̸o̴n̵d̶e̴r̴e̴d̴ ̶h̵o̸w̸ ̴g̵o̵o̶d̵ ̴t̷h̵e̵ ̶d̸a̸r̴k̶n̸e̷s̴s̴ ̸f̶e̶e̷l̶s̸?̶”̷

I recoil, pull back at the feeling and the implication. It isn’t me who gets the first words out, though. Sylva dashes forward, in front of me, unafraid as ever. Facing down a hive god, like the hubristic little thing she is. “I̴̤̾f y̸̡̾ou think you can corrupt us by offe̷̪̚ring something, you’re a̸̮͒bsolutely out of your̵̳̃ mind! We’re stron̶̂͜ger than that!”

Savathun lets out another of those chittering laughs. Her speech, initially grating and painful, has taken on a strange quality, one I can’t quite put my finger on. She rebuts Sylva “̸O̸h̶,̷ ̷l̶i̴t̶t̵l̴e̷ ̴m̸a̸c̴h̷i̵n̴e̵,̵ ̶I̸ ̸t̶h̷i̵n̴k̶ ̴i̵t̵ ̵w̸i̵l̶l̷ ̵n̵o̷t̸ ̵t̵a̴k̸e̶ ̴m̷u̵c̸h̸ ̶t̸o̵ ̶c̴o̸r̷r̵u̵p̸t̴ ̵y̶o̵u̸.̸ ̷M̶y̴ ̷r̸e̴s̸e̸a̷r̵c̶h̷ ̴e̵x̴t̷e̸n̸d̶s̴ ̶b̸e̵y̶o̵n̸d̵ ̸j̵u̵s̵t̴ ̶y̸o̷u̷r̶ ̴g̷u̴a̶r̸d̵i̶a̸n̴.̸ ̷I̷ ̸k̵n̴o̴w̵ ̷h̸o̷w̴ ̵m̷u̵c̶h̷ ̷y̴o̶u̴’̸v̸e̸ ̴d̸u̶g̴ ̵i̷n̶t̸o̵ ̵o̸u̸r̶ ̴a̴r̴c̷h̴i̷v̵e̴s̷.̵ ̴T̴h̴e̸ ̴l̶i̷t̴t̵l̸e̴ ̸p̵o̵k̸e̴s̵ ̴a̵n̷d̵ ̸p̶r̸o̸d̷s̸ ̵y̶o̷u̵ ̶t̷h̶o̴u̴g̸h̵t̵ ̸w̶e̷ ̷w̵o̶u̶l̸d̸n̶’̷t̵ ̴n̷o̷t̶i̵c̵e̸.̴ ̸W̶e̵ ̷n̶o̵t̷i̴c̶e̷ ̵e̶v̸e̷r̴y̷t̸h̷i̴n̶g̵,̶ ̸i̶n̷c̶l̸u̷d̶i̵n̷g̷ ̴y̴o̸u̵r̸ ̸c̸u̵r̶i̷o̷s̵i̸t̴i̸e̷s̷ ̵t̶h̷a̷t̷ ̶g̴o̵ ̸b̶e̶y̵o̶n̷d̷ ̶w̷h̷a̸t̸ ̷c̷o̷u̴l̵d̸ ̴b̴e̴ ̶c̴o̵n̷s̵i̶d̵e̶r̵e̸d̸ ̴‘̸t̷a̵c̵t̶i̸c̷a̷l̸l̸y̵ ̵u̸s̵e̶f̴u̷l̶’̸.̴ ̶C̸a̷n̵ ̶y̵o̸u̶ ̴t̵e̵l̴l̵ ̵m̷e̵,̸ ̵i̸f̵ ̸I̸ ̴t̸o̷l̶d̶ ̵y̸o̸u̷ ̶I̵ ̷c̶o̵u̶l̸d̷ ̸t̸a̷k̴e̵ ̴y̸o̶u̴ ̷a̵s̸ ̵w̶e̵l̷l̸,̸ ̴t̶h̴a̴t̸ ̵w̵o̸u̸l̷d̶n̸’̷t̷ ̸b̸e̵ ̵e̵n̶o̴u̷g̵h̴ ̵t̴o̷ ̷c̵o̶r̶r̷u̵p̸t̶ ̷t̸h̶a̸t̵ ̶l̸i̷t̴t̴l̵e̵ ̵m̵e̷c̷h̴a̸n̴i̴c̷a̴l̴ ̸m̷i̵n̵d̵ ̵o̷f̶ ̴y̶o̸u̵r̸s̸?̸”̷

I look at Sylva. She looks back at me, then at the ground. The air between us is still, the tension palpable. “What did you research, Sylva?” I sputter, holding my hands out for her to float into. “What could you have even looked at that would be that damning?”

She floats about, looking everywhere but at me. Seconds pass, and the deity ahead of us chuckles, before righting herself. Sylva turns to look at her before, as if whispering, stating simply "Th̴͎̽é̸͔ Books of Sor̶̦̂row. Rḙ̸͗̇counting of the Endless Plagues. T̷̨͓̔he Whi̸̡̒̏spers of the Deep…. The Final C̶͎̍̓ipher of a Guardian Lost.”

The last one is the most damning. 

A book detailing, explicitly, the slow process of a guardian turning. Being Taken. The events of the tome occurred during the old era, when Oryx was the king of the Taken, but the process likely remains the same, I think. 

My ghost, my Sylvangale has been delving into the dark depths of what the deep can offer. I cup her in my hands, contemplating for a moment, before speaking.

"You want this, then, Sylva?" I state, simply enough. She looks up at me and her shell spins. She's clearly thinking hard about what to say next.

"I d̴o̶.̴ ̵I̴ ̷d̴o, so m̵u̶c̴h." she says, nearly a whisper "I̸t̴'̸s̵ ̸b̵een̴ ̴m̶y̵ ̸d̸eepest̴ ̶s̴e̵c̶r̷et, bu̷t̷ ̵I̶ ̷n̶eed to k̶n̸o̵w̷,̶ ̴t̶o und̸e̷r̷s̸t̵a̷nd what̵ ̸i̴t̸'̶s̸ ̷l̴i̷ke. Mayb̷e̷ ̷I̷'̸m jus̸t̵ ̵a̵ ̸d̵e̶f̷e̴ctiv̷e̷ ̸g̶h̷o̶s̴t, but̵…̵ ̸I̴ ̴d̸on't ca̴r̸e̵ ̸a̷b̴o̴ut losi̷n̸g̸ ̴t̸h̵e̵ ̶l̴ight. As̴ ̶l̸o̵n̴g as I̷ ̵c̸a̵n̸ ̵d̶o it wi̴t̷h̵ ̵y̴o̵u̷, I'll̸ ̵b̴e̸ ̸h̶a̷p̸py."

I had almost forgotten about the hive god in the room, an understandably absurd notion, when she speaks up. "̵I̷ ̵c̵a̸n̴ ̸m̷a̷k̵e̵ ̴i̷t̸ ̵f̶e̷e̵l̶ ̷s̷o̵ ̴g̵o̷o̴d̴ ̴f̸o̷r̷ ̵y̷o̵u̶.̶ ̷Y̸o̵u̷'̶l̶l̷ ̵n̴e̸v̵e̶r̵ ̵h̸a̸v̷e̴ ̶t̵o̴ ̸l̷e̸a̶v̴e̵ ̴o̴n̸e̶ ̷a̵n̸o̵t̶h̸e̵r̶'̴s̶ ̷s̴i̴d̴e̷,̸ ̶a̶n̷d̵ ̸y̸o̴u̸ ̷w̴i̵l̶l̸ ̵h̶a̸v̵e̴ ̵a̸c̸c̶e̵s̵s̷ ̷t̶o̷ ̶a̷l̸l̶ ̷t̸h̸a̷t̸ ̸t̷h̷e̷ ̵d̴a̶r̵k̸n̷e̵s̴s̶ ̸h̷a̷s̴ ̴t̸o̷ ̴o̴f̸f̷e̵r̷.̸ ̴A̸l̴l̸ ̶y̶o̶u̵ ̴h̶a̴v̶e̸ ̵t̵o̸ ̶d̵o̶"̷ she means down and places her hand around my torso. I flinch away at first, but slowly ease into it. "̴I̶s̸ ̵l̶e̴t̷ ̵m̷e̵.̸"̸

Sylva and I exchange a glance. We both know what is going to happen, of course. She gets it out before I do, however. "We̴'̸l̷l̵ ̶d̵o it̶."

Immediately, I feel a force around my legs, pulling me downward. "̷G̶o̴o̸d̷…̷ ̶g̷o̶o̷d̴"̴ the deity in front of me croons "̷j̵u̴s̴t̶ ̴g̴i̸v̶e̴ ̶i̶n̸.̶"̷

I fall forward, landing squarely on my knees. Sylva is similarly held, though she does not appear to be struggling at all, simply letting her lusts overtake her. Savathûn returns to her roost, sitting with her legs wide open. The ethereal force that holds me pulls me slowly forward, approaching her split legs. As I approach, the once fixed chitin surrounding her groin splits, spilling forth strange sexual appendages as alien as the god herself. slim, tentacle-like limbs writhe at the base of a phallic, solid member, slim and clean. As with everything else in the place, it had a grey undertone, the mark of being in a hive throne world. 

It was thick, but slimline, smooth and almost beautiful, ending in a taper with a circular tip and a thin hole. Like most Hive, however, there were clear lines delineating each individual tissue, a striation to the otherwise clean shape that gave it texture and definition.

It was… magnificent. I had to wonder if all the broodmothers had such wonderful members but… surely this must be a gift of divinity.

“̵P̷a̸r̴t̷a̴k̴e̴,̵ ̸a̴n̷d̶ ̵y̸o̴u̵ ̸w̵i̶l̶l̵ ̸b̸e̸c̶o̴m̴e̷ ̴p̷e̶r̵f̷e̷c̶t̵e̷d̵.̶”̵

And, of course, I did. I could faintly overhear the discussion between Sylva and Savathun, some concern over how she could partake. Then, she joined me, swaddled in the tentacles, enraptured and engrossed in a deep pleasure. 

I took the tip into my mouth, an acrid but cloying scent filling my nostrils immediately. The taste was of flesh, of course; salty, but with an undertone of syrupy pleasure as the beginnings of her magic took hold on me. 

Enthralled, I continued, taking more of her bulged sex into my mouth. It pulsated, which I took as a notion of her pleasure. Outwardly, she of course showed no notion of any affection towards i̴t̴, only a sense that she was finally getting what she desired: a smugness. 

My tongue ran the underside of it and I shivered. It had started to taste… sweet. Saccharine almost. Whether it was because i̷t̶ had started to feel the effects of h̷e̶r̷ magic was unknown to i̷t̵, however I wanted to keep going. I wanted more of what s̴h̸e̶ was offering, of what i̶t̶ was feeling, the sweet taste and texture in i̶t̴s̴ mouth. 

I̵t̴ takes the ovipositor further into my mouth, past the normal point where my gag reflex would ordinarily be screaming out. It matters not however; i̵t̷s̴ gag reflex has been removed, just one of the many gifts from its new m̷a̷s̷t̶e̸r̴. I feel the tip of it slip into my throat, moving of its own volition now. Drool pools at the base of it, i̷t̴s̸ lips pressed against the chitin that protects the Q̸u̵e̶e̷n̴’̸s̴ ̴s̵e̶x̷. Above my head is m̴y̴ ̷o̸t̷h̷e̶r̵, a faint aura spread around h̷e̶r̷. I look upon h̷e̷r̷ with such love. S̴h̷e̸ has always been my all, and i̷t̷ continues to follow h̸e̵r̸ even now. The aura begins to overtake i̸t̵s̵ ̵o̸t̴h̴e̴r̷, the tentacles probing deeper and a sigh of great p̵l̵e̵a̸s̴u̷r̷e̸ erupting as their minds become l̶i̸n̶k̶e̴d̷. T̵h̶e̵y̶ are now o̷n̶e̷, and it feels so good. 

(This is better than Sylva could have ever hoped for. To be forever bonded, mind and body, to hers.)

I̸t̶ feels parts of ̷i̴t̵s̷e̶l̴f̸ slipping away, m̴e̷m̵o̴r̶i̷e̶s̶ and ̷ ̷t̵h̶o̴u̸g̵h̸t̷s̷ ceded to the force of i̷t̸s̵ new ̶m̴a̸s̷t̴e̵r̶. ̶I̶t̷ no longer n̸e̸e̸d̴s̸ them; i̴t̴ will a̷l̵w̴a̵y̷s̶ be in the p̸r̴e̴s̴e̶n̶c̷e̴ of the t̸w̶o̴ that matter, bonded intrinsically with i̷t̸s̴ ̵o̶t̷h̶e̸r̵ and able to f̴e̵e̵l̸ what i̵t̴s̴ ̸Q̵u̷e̸e̸n̸ wants.

I̷t̶ ̶f̷e̵e̶l̴s̵ ̶t̶h̷e̵ ̷o̶v̷i̷p̶o̶s̸i̴t̶o̸r̵ ̶w̵i̵t̷h̵i̴n̸ ̵i̴t̶,̴ ̶t̸h̴e̷ ̴s̵w̵e̴e̵t̵ ̷t̶a̵s̸t̴e̶ ̷a̷n̷d̵ ̶s̷o̷l̵i̷d̷i̸t̸y̵ ̷o̷f̷ ̷i̷t̶ ̴a̸ ̷r̶e̸m̸i̷n̷d̸e̸r̷ ̶o̶f̷ ̷i̷t̴s̴ ̴c̶u̴r̴r̸e̸n̷t̶ ̶p̷o̷s̴i̵t̶i̶o̴n̵:̵ ̴i̸t̶ ̵m̶u̵s̸t̸ ̴p̷l̵e̷a̸s̶e̶ ̸i̵t̷s̸ ̸m̷a̶s̸t̴e̴r̴.̸ ̶I̵t̶ ̸b̷r̶i̴n̴g̶s̴ ̴i̶t̵s̵ ̸h̸a̸n̴d̴s̷ ̴u̸p̵,̵ ̶r̶u̸n̴n̴i̵n̸g̵ ̵t̶h̴e̷m̸ ̶t̸h̴r̸o̶u̴g̷h̷ ̶t̴h̸e̴ ̵f̷r̵o̸n̷d̷s̵ ̸e̶n̶c̷i̵r̷c̴l̸i̶n̸g̵ ̸H̷e̶r̸ ̸m̴a̵i̵n̴ ̸s̸e̸x̵.̷ ̸T̷h̴e̸y̶ ̴g̴r̸a̷b̸ ̵a̶n̴d̸ ̴p̶u̵l̴l̶,̸ ̵a̵n̶d̴ ̶i̷t̶ ̴r̸e̴s̵i̵s̴t̵s̸ ̸t̴h̵e̴m̴,̶ ̸n̴o̵t̸ ̷o̸u̴t̶ ̴o̴f̸ ̸f̵e̶a̸r̸ ̴o̷r̸ ̵s̸p̶i̴t̴e̴,̸ ̴b̷u̵t̶ ̷t̶o̶ ̴g̶i̸v̷e̵ ̸t̷h̶e̴m̷ ̶t̵h̷e̴ ̵r̶e̵s̶i̷s̴t̷a̶n̵c̸e̶ ̵t̶h̵e̸y̷ ̷d̶e̴s̴i̶r̸e̴.̷ ̸I̶t̷ ̸k̸n̶o̷w̶s̸ ̴h̶o̴w̷ ̷b̸e̴s̵t̴ ̵t̸o̵ ̴s̸a̷t̷i̷s̴f̸y̵ ̶H̵e̶r̵.̴  
̸  
̷S̶h̸e̵ ̶l̷e̷t̷s̸ ̷o̸u̶t̸ ̷a̴ ̵d̷e̶e̷p̸,̸ ̴c̸h̶i̶t̷t̸e̵r̵i̸n̶g̷ ̸s̴i̶g̵h̷,̴ ̸a̵n̸d̴ ̴a̴ ̶s̸l̴i̴c̶k̵ ̷l̸i̸n̵e̷s̷ ̶i̵t̶s̴ ̸t̸h̴r̸o̸a̵t̷.̴ ̷I̷t̷ ̷b̸e̵c̵o̸m̸e̵s̸ ̷e̷x̸c̴i̴t̶e̸d̶,̷ ̷o̶r̴,̶ ̴a̵s̴ ̴e̵x̶c̷i̵t̸e̴d̷ ̵a̴s̸ ̵i̴t̶ ̵c̸a̴n̷ ̵b̷e̴.̵ ̷N̶o̸w̷ ̷c̶o̷m̴e̷s̴ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̶b̶e̴s̷t̵ ̵p̴a̷r̷t̷.̸ ̶I̴t̵ ̸w̷a̴i̶t̷s̴,̵ ̴a̶n̷d̶ ̶a̵s̴ ̶t̵h̸e̸ ̸s̸w̷e̸e̶t̷ ̶s̸l̴i̸c̵k̷ ̴i̸n̸c̵h̵e̶s̴ ̷i̸n̴t̸o̴ ̶i̸t̶s̶ ̷m̷o̸u̵t̶h̶,̷ ̶a̷ ̸b̷u̸l̸g̴e̵ ̵f̵o̸r̸m̷s̴ ̶a̶t̷ ̷t̴h̴e̵ ̴b̸a̴s̷e̴ ̷o̶f̴ ̸H̶e̴r̵ ̷o̷v̶i̵p̶o̸s̸i̶t̴o̸r̴.̴ ̴P̷u̷l̸s̴a̷t̵i̴l̴e̵ ̸m̷o̶t̸i̴o̴n̵ ̴d̶r̶a̴w̷s̵ ̸i̴t̶ ̸a̷l̸o̴n̸g̸ ̴t̴h̸e̵ ̴l̷e̶n̷g̴t̵h̵,̶ ̵f̸i̷l̷l̶i̷n̵g̵ ̴i̸t̶s̵ ̷m̶o̴u̵t̸h̶ ̷a̶n̷d̵ ̸s̷q̴u̷e̶l̷c̴h̶i̷n̷g̸ ̵t̶h̴e̵ ̸s̶e̴x̸ ̵f̴l̶u̸i̵d̴s̴ ̴t̸h̵a̷t̷ ̴h̴a̷v̴e̷ ̵h̵e̵l̶p̶e̶d̴ ̷a̸l̵o̵n̴g̸ ̷i̷t̴s̴ ̸t̴r̸a̷n̶s̵f̸o̴r̴m̶a̴t̵i̵o̵n̴.̷ ̶  
̵  
̴A̴s̴ ̵t̶h̷e̶ ̸b̶u̶l̶g̷e̶ ̴e̶n̶t̴e̶r̸s̶ ̶i̴t̴s̸ ̸t̴h̸r̶o̴a̴t̶,̵ ̷i̴t̵ ̵r̶e̶c̶e̸i̵v̴e̷s̵ ̴a̸ ̷b̷u̴r̶s̵t̸ ̷o̴f̸ ̵p̷l̵e̴a̴s̴u̵r̵e̶.̷ ̷I̸t̶ ̷h̸a̶s̷ ̶b̴e̷e̵n̸ ̸g̴o̸o̵d̴.̸ ̴T̵h̵e̵ ̷e̸g̸g̵ ̴f̵a̸l̶l̴s̷ ̷i̶n̷t̴o̸ ̶i̴t̸s̶ ̴s̴t̷o̴m̷a̴c̶h̷ ̸w̸i̷t̶h̷ ̵a̷ ̴s̵l̵i̴c̸k̸ ̸p̷l̶o̶p̶,̸ ̶t̴h̸e̸ ̴f̵e̶e̶l̴i̵n̵g̸ ̷a̴n̵o̵t̶h̴e̸r̵ ̷e̸c̴s̷t̴a̴s̸y̸ ̷i̸n̷ ̴i̷t̵s̵e̸l̵f̷.̶ ̵I̵t̴ ̶k̷n̷o̶w̷s̴ ̶w̴h̵a̶t̵ ̶w̶i̸l̶l̴ ̶h̶a̵p̷p̶e̴n̷ ̵t̵o̵ ̴t̶h̸a̵t̶ ̶e̵g̸g̴,̵ ̴i̷n̶ ̸t̶i̷m̵e̶.̴ ̴  
̴  
̵F̸o̷r̴ ̸n̴o̶w̸,̸ ̴h̴o̴w̵e̵v̸e̶r̷,̸ ̷i̴t̸ ̸f̴e̴e̸l̷s̴ ̸t̴h̵e̷ ̵m̵e̶n̷t̵a̷l̷ ̶t̸u̷g̸.̸ ̶I̴t̴ ̵r̴e̸o̸r̸i̷e̶n̶t̵s̷ ̸i̸t̶s̴e̷l̴f̶,̴ ̷p̴r̴e̶s̶e̸n̸t̵i̵n̵g̴ ̵i̵t̷s̴ ̶d̵r̵i̸p̸p̵i̵n̷g̷ ̴s̴e̵x̸.̴ ̵S̷l̷o̵w̴l̷y̸,̷ ̴i̸t̴ ̷i̸n̸s̷e̵r̴t̸s̵ ̷t̸h̶e̴ ̷o̶v̸i̵p̵o̵s̶i̶t̶o̷r̵ ̶i̶n̸t̶o̷ ̷i̸t̴,̶ ̷t̶h̷e̵ ̵m̵e̶m̵b̸e̵r̶ ̷s̷t̴r̶e̴t̷c̴h̴i̶n̵g̶ ̴a̴n̴d̸ ̷p̸u̷s̷h̵i̶n̸g̶.̸ ̷W̵h̴e̷n̴ ̸i̷t̵ ̵r̴e̶a̵c̴h̶e̴s̴ ̸i̵t̸s̸ ̷t̶r̷a̵n̸s̷f̷o̶r̴m̸e̶d̵ ̵r̵e̵p̴r̸o̶d̴u̵c̵t̸i̸v̸e̸ ̴o̷r̶g̵a̴n̵s̴,̶ ̵i̷t̴ ̶p̴u̷s̵h̷e̸s̴ ̸i̶n̴s̷i̷d̷e̷,̵ ̶o̵p̴e̸n̶i̵n̶g̴ ̴i̴t̴ ̴t̴o̶ ̶b̶e̴ ̷f̶i̷l̵l̶e̷d̸.̴  
̶  
̵T̵h̸e̸ ̷f̷i̵r̶s̷t̸ ̵e̶g̴g̷ ̸i̸s̵ ̵t̸h̸e̴ ̸m̷o̸s̶t̵ ̸s̷u̴r̶p̷r̶i̴s̴i̵n̸g̶.̶ ̶I̷t̴ ̷c̶a̵n̸n̴o̴t̷ ̷s̴e̴e̸ ̴t̸h̵e̸ ̷b̷u̴l̸g̴i̸n̵g̷,̵ ̶s̴o̷ ̴t̵h̶e̶ ̸f̶i̵r̷s̴t̷ ̵s̵t̷r̴e̸t̸c̶h̵ ̶c̸a̷t̴c̷h̸e̷s̷ ̵i̴t̶ ̵o̶f̷f̸ ̶g̴u̴a̴r̴d̵,̵ ̶a̶ ̷s̸q̵u̷e̶a̷l̴ ̵l̸e̷a̷v̶i̴n̸g̷ ̴i̶t̸s̸ ̸l̵i̵p̵s̸.̵ ̶A̴s̴ ̶t̶h̸e̴ ̶e̶g̵g̸ ̴p̷u̵s̶h̵e̸s̷ ̸t̶h̵r̵o̷u̷g̸h̴,̵ ̴i̶t̵ ̶c̸o̴n̵t̴i̸n̶u̵e̷s̷ ̷t̷o̸ ̵m̶o̴a̸n̸,̵ ̸t̸h̴e̶ ̷p̴l̴e̴a̵s̸u̵r̶e̶ ̶e̶l̸e̴v̶a̷t̴e̸d̵ ̸b̶y̸ ̴t̷h̶e̶ ̷u̷n̷d̸e̷r̸s̴t̷a̴n̶d̴i̵n̶g̵ ̴o̵f̸ ̷i̶t̷ ̸d̷o̶i̶n̸g̴ ̷i̸t̸s̴ ̵p̸u̶r̸p̷o̶s̴e̴ ̶t̵o̸ ̸t̶h̴e̶ ̶q̴u̷e̴e̸n̴,̵ ̴a̴t̴ ̷l̴e̷a̸s̶t̸ ̶f̶o̸r̸ ̵t̸h̷e̴ ̸t̴i̷m̸e̷.̶ ̷U̴n̸t̷i̷l̴ ̴i̴t̵’̸s̵ ̵e̸g̷g̴ ̸h̶a̷t̴c̸h̶e̴s̷,̷ ̴i̷t̷ ̷c̸a̸n̷n̴o̵t̶ ̷f̸i̸g̶h̵t̴ ̶p̸r̴o̴p̶e̶r̸l̵y̷:̶ ̸i̵t̷ ̶w̵i̵l̴l̷ ̸s̸i̸m̸p̶l̴y̷ ̸a̴c̴t̷ ̶a̷s̶ ̸a̶ ̸b̶r̴o̵o̸d̸m̸o̸t̵h̴e̵r̵ ̶u̸n̶t̵i̷l̷ ̴t̴h̵e̸n̵.̷ ̷  
̸  
̶A̴n̵o̴t̵h̸e̴r̶ ̵e̵g̴g̸ ̸f̴o̵l̵l̸o̴w̵s̶ ̷t̸h̷e̶ ̸f̴i̵r̵s̴t̴,̶ ̴i̴t̷s̵ ̸d̸r̴o̴o̴l̶i̷n̸g̷ ̴l̴i̸p̶s̵ ̸o̴p̶e̷n̵ ̴a̶n̴d̷ ̷r̷e̷a̷d̸y̷ ̷t̸o̷ ̴r̶e̵c̴e̷i̴v̸e̷ ̵i̶t̶.̶ ̵I̶t̵ ̵e̸n̷t̸e̷r̷s̷ ̴a̸ ̴f̷u̴g̸u̴e̷,̸ ̷e̴g̵g̵ ̶a̶f̷t̶e̵r̴ ̷e̵g̸g̷ ̴b̴e̷i̸n̵g̴ ̸p̴u̶m̸p̵e̷d̴ ̴i̸n̶t̴o̶ ̶i̶t̷,̸ ̴p̷l̷e̶a̴s̸u̸r̴e̸ ̷i̵t̷s̸ ̴o̴n̶l̵y̸ ̶t̵h̶o̷u̶g̵h̶t̵.̶ ̸S̵l̶i̴c̷k̴ ̴p̶o̴o̸l̸s̶ ̷u̷n̴d̸e̸r̴n̷e̴a̶t̸h̷ ̸i̷t̸,̵ ̸s̵q̷u̸e̴l̶c̷h̷i̵n̸g̷ ̶w̵i̶t̵h̴ ̴e̸a̵c̷h̴ ̵s̶q̵u̴i̷r̴m̴ ̷a̵n̶d̸ ̴e̷c̸s̵t̴a̷t̸i̵c̴ ̷b̵u̸c̶k̶.̴ ̴I̶t̷ ̵f̶e̵e̶l̸s̸ ̸i̵t̴s̷ ̷o̸t̸h̷e̵r̸,̸ ̵e̸x̴p̶e̶r̴i̵e̴n̷c̵i̷n̷g̶ ̷t̶h̸e̸ ̵s̶a̸m̶e̴ ̷e̴c̴s̸t̸a̵s̴y̷,̶ ̵a̵n̸d̵ ̶i̸t̵ ̶f̴e̸e̷l̸s̸ ̷h̴a̸p̸p̴y̷.̸ ̴  
̸  
̵F̶i̸n̶a̵l̶l̸y̵,̴ ̶t̴h̶e̶ ̴u̷l̸t̴i̴m̸a̵t̶e̶ ̴e̸g̷g̶ ̶i̸s̵ ̵p̷l̴a̴c̶e̴d̵ ̵w̴i̵t̸h̶i̸n̷.̵ ̶I̸t̸s̸ ̶s̷e̸x̵ ̶i̵s̸ ̸s̵e̶a̸l̶e̴d̴,̸ ̵b̸o̴t̵h̵ ̸t̶o̷ ̴p̷r̸o̵t̷e̵c̶t̷ ̸t̸h̷e̶ ̸e̴g̶g̴s̸ ̵a̵n̶d̴ ̷t̶o̷ ̵k̴e̶e̷p̷ ̸i̶t̵ ̶c̷h̵a̵s̵t̴e̴ ̵d̵u̴r̴i̷n̶g̸ ̶i̸t̷s̸ ̶i̷n̵c̸u̷b̷a̸t̶i̸o̴n̸.̶ ̷I̶t̵ ̵w̶o̴u̸l̵d̴ ̸n̵o̸t̴ ̶t̶h̷i̶n̶k̸ ̵t̵o̵ ̸d̵i̸s̶o̸b̴e̴y̸,̸ ̷h̷o̶w̵e̵v̶e̸r̷,̸ ̶o̵t̵h̸e̸r̶ ̴m̸e̶m̵b̷e̷r̸s̷ ̴o̸f̵ ̷t̸h̶e̴ ̶b̸r̵o̸o̸d̴ ̴a̴r̵e̸ ̶n̵o̸t̶ ̷a̵s̶…̴ ̷l̷o̴y̵a̷l̸.̶ ̵I̸t̶ ̶f̶e̶e̴l̸s̷ ̸i̸t̵s̴ ̶d̷i̷s̷t̵e̷n̷d̵e̵d̸ ̶b̵e̴l̵l̴y̸,̶ ̶p̸l̷e̷a̸s̶u̴r̴e̶ ̸f̵i̸l̶l̴i̶n̴g̷ ̸i̸t̵s̴ ̵m̴i̸n̴d̸.̶ ̵I̶t̸s̸ ̸o̵t̵h̷e̵r̷ ̵f̸l̸o̵a̵t̵s̴ ̸a̴b̴o̷u̷t̴,̴ ̶e̷t̶h̵e̶r̵e̸a̶l̵ ̷h̸a̸z̵e̴ ̵d̴r̵i̸f̷t̵i̶n̵g̷ ̴a̵b̶o̷u̷t̷ ̶i̷t̴.̴ ̴I̶t̸ ̴b̴u̷t̸t̴s̸ ̸a̶g̴a̶i̶n̷s̸t̵ ̵i̶t̸,̵ ̵a̵ ̷g̶e̴s̵t̸u̸r̵e̶ ̸o̷f̷ ̵a̶f̴f̶e̴c̴t̸i̶o̷n̶,̶ ̴a̴n̶d̶ ̵t̴h̴e̷ ̷t̷w̶o̷ ̷s̵h̶a̶r̴e̶ ̷a̵ ̴m̷o̷m̵e̸n̵t̵ ̷o̸f̶ ̵s̴h̵a̵r̷e̸d̵ ̶b̴l̸i̵s̵s̷.̵  
̶  
̵S̵h̷e̷ ̵o̵r̶d̵e̶r̸s̵ ̵t̵h̴e̸m̴ ̸t̵a̷k̸e̴n̸ ̵f̵r̵o̶m̵ ̸t̷h̸e̸ ̷c̴h̷a̸m̸b̷e̸r̸,̴ ̷t̵o̵ ̷b̸e̷ ̷h̸e̶l̶d̴ ̷w̵i̸t̴h̶ ̸t̴h̴e̸ ̵o̸t̶h̸e̵r̶ ̷p̴a̶l̷a̶c̷e̵ ̸m̴o̶t̵h̶e̷r̶s̶.̷ ̷I̷t̵ ̷f̸i̶n̶d̴s̷ ̶i̵t̴s̶e̶l̴f̶ ̷i̷n̸ ̵a̸ ̴p̷l̴e̴a̶s̷a̶n̴t̴ ̷c̵h̶a̶m̸b̶e̵r̷,̸ ̷o̶t̸h̴e̶r̴s̶ ̸l̶i̴k̶e̴ ̴i̴t̶ ̸o̴f̶ ̵l̵e̷s̴s̷e̷r̷ ̵(̴i̵t̷ ̵i̴s̸ ̶t̶o̸l̷d̶ ̸t̸h̸i̷s̸ ̵b̶y̴ ̵H̵e̵r̶)̶ ̸r̶a̸c̴e̸s̵ ̷a̷l̶o̷n̸g̶s̵i̴d̶e̴.̶ ̸A̵s̷ ̷s̵l̸e̴e̵p̴ ̸o̸v̷e̶r̶t̴a̷k̷e̷s̷ ̶i̸t̷,̷ ̷i̷t̷ ̴l̴a̷v̵i̴s̵h̸e̸s̵ ̴i̴n̵ ̵c̷o̴n̸t̵e̵n̸t̵m̸e̷n̷t̴.̴


	2. Chapter 2

Before me lies the expanse of the Cradle, Io. I've walked here many times before; in fact, I would say that it is a favorite place of mine to wander when my brain leads me to contemplation. It is an ancient place, marked with the soul of a people not born of each other, but born of the Light. The feeling this place evokes is one of wholeness, a reminder of our shared history. The melancholy that pierces my heart is overwhelming.

In recent months, however, this holy site has been incurred against; wicked digits crawling the ground, a battlefield where once I found myself having tea. No matter: a guardian always fights on, even when faced with odds so unlikely. I have many a time grabbed a fireteam and plowed through the dark hordes, clearing the way.

This, however… this time is different. Firstly, I am alone, but for my trusty ghost Sylvangale. She's with me everywhere though. As I make the cautious movements to get to my feet, I notice the second major discrepancy. Namely, I don't have any of my weapons on me.

My feet grab forward, their world-worn soles treading toward some destination I know not of. The last incision into this space was many weeks ago, a last-ditch attempt by the Taken to gain a foothold. We stomped it out, crushed the interlopers into dust all the same. 

Why would I need to be here, at this moment? “Where are you going?” Sylvangale chirps from my radio, a reminder of her constant presence. “There’s nothing in that direction but cliffs and…” she trails off, the sentence left floating, like the shapes we see before us. She was correct, before those shapes materialized. The ochre palette of Io’s surface often leaves much to be desired, it’s craggy shapes and putrescent rocks only made worse by the smell. 

The constant stench of sulfur from the vents and pools leaking into the atmosphere. If you ever see a guardian on Io with their helmet on, I promise you it isn’t because Io lacks atmosphere. It has plenty.

The shapes that had materialized before us were foreign to me, characters in some xenoscript I had yet to bear witness to. They swirled in the air, the movement causing me to reach for my holster. Missing. I scramble to find the nearest cover, a stone or a tree, anything to put a buffer between those shapes and me. 

I find none. The clearing is empty, but for the rocks and crags, and the symbols now ominously circling a dot of darkness. 

I’ve seen this before, just not with these symbols. This is what happens before an incursion into the cradle. The Taken had finally regrouped, brought their forces to heel and prepared a second wave. I would be the first to fall.

“Sylva, get me comms to the vanguard, Asher, anyone really!” I whisper. “We’re dark here, I’m afraid. No signals in or out.” She replies, her placidity grating. “You do still have your abilities, yes?” I flex my light and an orb of arc energy appears in my hand. That’s a yes, then. “Keep checking comms, I’ll do my best here. Just stay out of harm’s way if I go down.”

As the dot expands into a greater and greater space, I prepare myself for the first forces. None arrive to meet me. Finally, the portal is fully open, a maw in space and time. Yet I am alone still, stranded in the Cradle without my ship, my weapons, or my comms.

I could have turned around, freed myself of the grasp of whatever creature aimed to lure me in. Curiosity, that most human of traits, made me pursue it further. Through the portal I step, and into an ascendant realm. Around me winds whirl, the ground the calcareous pathways indicative of hive architecture. 

“I must say I’m suspicious of this.” That makes two of us Sylvangale. “Why would the Taken want to lure us into their ascendant realm? That’s asking for trouble.” she finishes. “Whatever they’re aiming for, we’re not going to give it to them.” I respond, surveying the land ahead of me. A massive hive keep sprawls, the tapered columns immaculate. I see Taken eyeing me from the spires of the keep, and I ready myself to fight.

“They’re not aggressing.” Sylva notes, and I look around. Even the ones that I should be in range of stand stock, assessing the situation but not attacking. Taken never do this. “This is almost definitely a trap of some sort. Be ready.” she continues.

The gate to the keep straight ahead of me, I notice it.

Dozens of thrall, kneeling on either side of the walkway, a channel for me to pass through. A guest of honor? I pass through them with trepidation, every moment an opportunity for them to attack. They never do.

Inside the keep, I find a wizard outfitted in finery. Or, as close to finery as I assume the Taken get. They gesture down the rightward pathway, and follow me as I make my march. “To be invited inside a Hive god’s ascendant plane, and then their palace? If we make it out of here, we’re going to have one hell of a story to tell.” Sylva quips. I stay silent, mulling over everything that I’ve done in the past to try to understand: why, why, why? Why would a hive god be interested in me?

I would soon get my answer. Upon arriving at the central chamber, I come face to… probably face with an easily 20 foot tall hive creature. I have no means of ascertaining what or who they are, but this appears to be my destination, flanked by wizards on either side which prevent my extrication. 

Seeing my only possible throughline, I step forward. What I do not expect is for the creature to address me.

“Welcome to my palace, guardian. I am sure you’re curious about what your business is here, what purpose I have for you. Why, even, I have treated you so kindly. All of these will be answered in time, I assure you. In the meantime, please, sit. Listen”

The sound bounds out of them in a voice of dripping needles, both soothing and rough at the same time; A loquacious freedom steeped in completely foreign sensory experiences, like a familiar, motherly voice and yet, at the same time, the chittering of a cicada, all wrapped together. It leaves me unsettled, yet calmed, an experience of contrasts and confusion. “This is wrong, this all feels so wrong. We should be prepared, ready to run. I feel so weak around them, an eminently uncomfortable distance from our light.” sylva belts out to me. I can feel it too, the tug. 

Something compels me forward. The being’s strange ethereal presence haunts my soul, holding it hostage to their whims. I start forward, and ask a simple, if discordant question. 

“What is your name?”

They stir, the shifting of their limbs causing creaks and shivers from the enormous, osseous throne under them. They let out a noise; it sounds almost like a chittering giggle, a laugh that only the most devilish of creatures would have.

We are dealing with the taken here. Devilish is in-line with expectations. 

Finally, after moments of contemplation, their three compound eyes scanning me, piercing deep into my core, they let out a sign, and then, words.“Of course. I am Savathun, the taken queen, heir to the mother morph, and the coming desolation of the light. I weave deception through the universe, every instant an opportunity to create greater chaos. I already know who you are, guardian. Saviour of the system dozens of times over. You are truly a gifted light-bearer. However, I must ask you a question…”

She, Savathun, seems to hesitate. No- Hesitate is the wrong word. She’s chosing her timing, the very cadence of her speech precisely. She unravels herself from her throne, the full two dozen feet of her stretching out to fill the air.

I see now why this chamber, nay, the palace, is built as big as it is. She towers over me, her full height intimidating before she crouches down and places a single finger under my chin. I can feel her gaze, its intensity is everything in this moment.

“Have you ever wondered how good the darkness feels?”

I recoil, pull back at the feeling and the implication. It isn’t me who gets the first words out, though. Sylva dashes forward, in front of me, unafraid as ever. Facing down a hive god, like the hubristic little thing she is. “If you think you can corrupt us by offering something, you’re absolutely out of your mind! We’re stronger than that!”

Savathun lets out another of those chittering laughs. Her speech, initially grating and painful, has taken on a strange quality, one I can’t quite put my finger on. She rebuts Sylva “Oh, little machine, I think it will not take much to corrupt you. My research extends beyond just your guardian. I know how much you’ve dug into our archives. The little pokes and prods you thought we wouldn’t notice. We notice everything, including your curiosities that go beyond what could be considered ‘tactically useful’. Can you tell me, if I told you I could take you as well, that wouldn’t be enough to corrupt that little mechanical mind of yours?”

I look at Sylva. She looks back at me, then at the ground. The air between us is still, the tension palpable. “What did you research, Sylva?” I sputter, holding my hands out for her to float into. “What could you have even looked at that would be that damning?”

She floats about, looking everywhere but at me. Seconds pass, and the deity ahead of us chuckles, before righting herself. Sylva turns to look at her before, as if whispering, stating simply "The Books of Sorrow. Recounting of the Endless Plagues. The Whispers of the Deep…. The Final Cipher of a Guardian Lost.”

The last one is the most damning. 

A book detailing, explicitly, the slow process of a guardian turning. Being Taken. The events of the tome occurred during the old era, when Oryx was the king of the Taken, but the process likely remains the same, I think. 

My ghost, my Sylvangale has been delving into the dark depths of what the deep can offer. I cup her in my hands, contemplating for a moment, before speaking.

"You want this, then, Sylva?" I state, simply enough. She looks up at me and her shell spins. She's clearly thinking hard about what to say next.

"I do. I do, so much." she says, nearly a whisper "It's been my deepest secret, but I need to know, to understand what it's like. Maybe I'm just a defective ghost, but… I don't care about losing the light. As long as I can do it with you, I'll be happy."

I had almost forgotten about the hive god in the room, an understandably absurd notion, when she speaks up. "I can make it feel so good for you. You'll never have to leave one another's side, and you will have access to all that the darkness has to offer. All you have to do" she means down and places her hand around my torso. I flinch away at first, but slowly ease into it. "Is let me."

Sylva and I exchange a glance. We both know what is going to happen, of course. She gets it out before I do, however. "We'll do it."

Immediately, I feel a force around my legs, pulling me downward. "Good… good" the deity in front of me croons "just give in."

I fall forward, landing squarely on my knees. Sylva is similarly held, though she does not appear to be struggling at all, simply letting her lusts overtake her. Savathûn returns to her roost, sitting with her legs wide open. The ethereal force that holds me pulls me slowly forward, approaching her split legs. As I approach, the once fixed chitin surrounding her groin splits, spilling forth strange sexual appendages as alien as the god herself. slim, tentacle-like limbs writhe at the base of a phallic, solid member, slim and clean. As with everything else in the place, it had a grey undertone, the mark of being in a hive throne world. 

It was thick, but slimline, smooth and almost beautiful, ending in a taper with a circular tip and a thin hole. Like most Hive, however, there were clear lines delineating each individual tissue, a striation to the otherwise clean shape that gave it texture and definition.

It was… magnificent. I had to wonder if all the broodmothers had such wonderful members but… surely this must be a gift of divinity.

“Partake, and you will become perfected.”

And, of course, I did. I could faintly overhear the discussion between Sylva and Savathun, some concern over how she could partake. Then, she joined me, swaddled in the tentacles, enraptured and engrossed in a deep pleasure. 

I took the tip into my mouth, an acrid but cloying scent filling my nostrils immediately. The taste was of flesh, of course; salty, but with an undertone of syrupy pleasure as the beginnings of her magic took hold on me. 

Enthralled, I continued, taking more of her bulged sex into my mouth. It pulsated, which I took as a notion of her pleasure. Outwardly, she of course showed no notion of any affection towards it, only a sense that she was finally getting what she desired: a smugness. 

My tongue ran the underside of it and I shivered. It had started to taste… sweet. Saccharine almost. Whether it was because it had started to feel the effects of her magic was unknown to it, however I wanted to keep going. I wanted more of what she was offering, of what it was feeling, the sweet taste and texture in its mouth. 

It takes the ovipositor further into my mouth, past the normal point where my gag reflex would ordinarily be screaming out. It matters not however; its gag reflex has been removed, just one of the many gifts from its new master. I feel the tip of it slip into my throat, moving of its own volition now. Drool pools at the base of it, its lips pressed against the chitin that protects the Queen’s sex. Above my head is my other, a faint aura spread around her. I look upon her with such love. She has always been my all, and it continues to follow her even now. The aura begins to overtake its other, the tentacles probing deeper and a sigh of great pleasure erupting as their minds become linked. They are now one, and it feels so good. 

(This is better than Sylva could have ever hoped for. To be forever bonded, mind and body, to hers.)

It feels parts of itself slipping away, memories and thoughts ceded to the force of its new master. It no longer needs them; it will always be in the presence of the two that matter, bonded intrinsically with its other and able to feel what its Queen wants.

It feels the ovipositor within it, the sweet taste and solidity of it a reminder of its current position: it must please its master. It brings its hands up, running them through the fronds encircling Her main sex. They grab and pull, and it resists them, not out of fear or spite, but to give them the resistance they desire. It knows how best to satisfy Her.

She lets out a deep, chittering sigh, and a slick lines its throat. It becomes excited, or, as excited as it can be. Now comes the best part. It waits, and as the sweet slick inches into its mouth, a bulge forms at the base of Her ovipositor. Pulsatile motion draws it along the length, filling its mouth and squelching the sex fluids that have helped along its transformation. 

As the bulge enters its throat, it receives a burst of pleasure. It has been good. The egg falls into its stomach with a slick plop, the feeling another ecstasy in itself. It knows what will happen to that egg, in time. 

For now, however, it feels the mental tug. It reorients itself, presenting its dripping sex. Slowly, it inserts the ovipositor into it, the member stretching and pushing. When it reaches its transformed reproductive organs, it pushes inside, opening it to be filled.

The first egg is the most surprising. It cannot see the bulging, so the first stretch catches it off guard, a squeal leaving its lips. As the egg pushes through, it continues to moan, the pleasure elevated by the understanding of it doing its purpose to the queen, at least for the time. Until it’s egg hatches, it cannot fight properly: it will simply act as a broodmother until then. 

Another egg follows the first, its drooling lips open and ready to receive it. It enters a fugue, egg after egg being pumped into it, pleasure its only thought. Slick pools underneath it, squelching with each squirm and ecstatic buck. It feels its other, experiencing the same ecstasy, and it feels happy. 

Finally, the ultimate egg is placed within. Its sex is sealed, both to protect the eggs and to keep it chaste during its incubation. It would not think to disobey, however, other members of the brood are not as… loyal. It feels its distended belly, pleasure filling its mind. Its other floats about, ethereal haze drifting about it. It butts against it, a gesture of affection, and the two share a moment of shared bliss.

She orders them taken from the chamber, to be held with the other palace mothers. It finds itself in a pleasant chamber, others like it of lesser (it is told this by Her) races alongside. As sleep overtakes it, it lavishes in contentment.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoyed! I wrote this after a friend and I made a joke about the strike "Savathun's Song" which, unfortunately, is going to be entering the content vault soon. It's a simple play on words that evolved into a very, very fun idea. 
> 
> for my good friends :3


End file.
